


Please Just Take These Photos From My Hands

by mxearthling



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Can be read as queer platonic or pre-ship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No spoilers for the game, One Shot, Since I haven't freaking played it lmao, Trans Male Character, Unsafe binder usage, Weight issues/loss, but it's all okay in the end, negativity, prompto-centric, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxearthling/pseuds/mxearthling
Summary: Prompto’s life could be told through photographs.





	

Prompto’s life could be told through photographs. 

At the age of one, he would be nestled within a pink blanket and held in the arms of his new parents as they stood in the living room of their home, their smiles wide and sincere.

At the age of two, he would be in a pretty blue dress that matched his bright, exuberant eyes. His knees and elbows would be covered in dirt, and there would be play structures and other children in the background. His grin would be wide and aimed directly at the camera as he held up fistfuls of grass like he’d achieved some great accomplishment.

At the age of four, he would be in shorts and a t-shirt, tongue sticking out of his mouth and fair hair pulled into a messy ponytail as he stood on his tip toes with a look of concentration, attempting to press the buttons of an arcade machine. 

At the age of six, he would be sporting smudges of frosting on his face as he held his very first camera in his hands, a birthday hat perched on his head as he looked down at the little contraption with awe.

At the age of eight, he would now be the one behind the camera, his parents having grown increasingly busy with their individual jobs, unable to continue taking the dozens of photographs of Prompto they had been before. He would be crouched to the ground, snapping photographs of the stray cats that roamed throughout his neighborhood. He would take pictures of clouds, of trees, of anything his eye could see.

At the age of ten, he would move on to photographing people, including himself. His body had begun developing in more ways than one, and he was growing increasingly unhappy because of it. Photos had always made him feel better, so he would force himself to smile big and wide as he took pictures of himself in his room, outside, and with his parents when they were actually there. He would feel that something was wrong, but he never stopped taking photographs. 

At the age of twelve, he _did_ stop taking photos of himself. He lashed out at his parents on the rare occasions that they were home, and he would stay in his room except to leave for school. He hated being seen by _anyone_ , let alone a camera. Still, it was his solace and while he kept himself out of sight, his camera’s eye captured everything around him.

That was when he met Tiny. The rest, after that, could easily be told in the hundreds of photographs Prompto kept in a box underneath his bed. Pictures of himself in front of a mirror as he slowly but steadily dropped the weight that he felt had been holding him back since the age of ten. 

Two years passed, and he never failed to take at least one photograph of himself every single day.

The very last picture from the collection hidden away in that box showed when he admitted to both his parents and himself that he wasn’t happy as a girl, never had been, and never would be; it showed the abruptness of his new, shorn hairstyle, and the day that he began proudly wearing his binder during the summer just before high school.

At the age of fifteen, he took his first picture of Noctis. It was the first time Prompto had invited a friend over, and he had been in a great mood despite his nervousness. He had grabbed his camera, plopped down right beside Noctis on the couch, thrown an arm over his shoulder, and pointed the camera at the two of them before snapping a picture. Noctis had complained about the spots he was seeing thanks to the flash, but he still smiled when Prompto showed him a preview of the picture on the little screen.

So, yeah, Prompto’s life could most certainly be told through photographs. They weren’t always pretty or happy, didn’t always feature smiles and laughs, but what life only featured those, anyway? Pain and sadness and fear… Sure, it all sucked, especially when it was happening, but it was what made the smiles and laughs bigger and brighter. Prompto thought that was what made it all worth it, in the end.

+

Prompto didn't know why Noctis insisted on walking him home at the most random times, but he wasn't going to complain. It honestly wasn't really all that surprising, either. Others may have been shocked at the 'brooding' prince's kindness, but Prompto knew better. (Noctis didn't even really brood as much as people believed he did - he was, more often than not, just sleepy). As insecure as he could sometimes be, Prompto refused to let it make him doubt their friendship. They had each other’s backs and if that meant sometimes doing little things like treating for the other at the arcade, sharing lunch, or walking each other home, then that was just how they rolled.

Despite Prompto being warmed by the gesture, he couldn't quite focus on it. He yawned, lacing his fingers above his head with palms to the sky and subtly stretching his arms up, straightening his back. When his arms lowered, he felt a bit better. He could breathe easier, his ribs aching to a tolerable degree rather than an annoying one now. From the look Noctis gave him, though, he knew exactly why Prompto had done his little stretching exercise. 

"How long have you been wearing it?" the prince asked, mincing no words.

Prompto winced, chuckling a little nervously before he said, "Just since classes started today."

Noctis raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and Prompto deflated in the face of it and forced himself to admit, "Since early this morning."

"Prom... That's more than eight hours."

"I know, man- I know, okay?"

He shoved a hand in his pocket, the other gripping the handle of his bag tightly as he looked straight ahead, jaw clenched.

Noctis was a good friend, at the end of the day. For someone who wasn't like Prompto, he understood better than probably anyone else ever would. He had been less confused about it than his adoptive parents, at least, and Prompto had been grateful; the couple meant well and supported him, but they often slipped up with pronouns or grew confused with their usually cheerful son's bouts of melancholy. 

Noctis took it all in stride, however. He almost never saw the darker moments, but Prompto sometimes just needed someone to talk to, and Noctis was always the one - the only one - he would ever go to for that. Unfortunately, it sometimes meant Noctis got on his back about properly binding his chest and making sure he didn't overdo it. It was annoying, but understandable.

Noctis didn't argue this time, though. He must have seen something on Prompto's face, at the way his shoulders were growing tense once more, because he said, "As long as you know."

Prompto was grateful for the lack of third degree and he relaxed - as much as he could while bodily exhausted and hurting, anyway. He was in a chipper mood despite it, still a bit hyped up from their time at the arcade. They’d tried the new dancing machine recently put in, and both Noctis _and_ Prompto had nearly tripped over their own feet before they got the hang of it.  
The thought of their escapades made him laugh all over again and he stuck his tongue out at Noctis when the other gave him a strange look for his abrupt amusement. The ache in his ribs was dull yet persistent, but he ignored it. _Almost home_ , he thought, before pushing it from his mind and chattering at Noctis all over again. _I’ll be okay_.

+

“I am an _idiot_ and _not_ okay!” Prompto wailed to himself as he practically crawled to his bed.

His binder and pants were abandoned on the floor in front of his mirror and his chest was bare as he grabbed the nearest soft thing along the way and pulled it over his head. Thankfully, it was his favorite sweater. It was the ugliest, most comfortable sweater in the world and it swamped him since it was two sizes too big, but that was okay. It was still his favorite.

He whimpered at the persistent pain in his sides as he fumbled into bed, laying out flat on his back and trying to _breathe_ , feeling like the act itself was a struggle.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he thought. 

This was the consequence of having worn his binder since 7AM that morning. It was verging on almost 7PM now, which totaled out to- Prompto groaned. _No counting_.  
Tired and aching, he decided to go to sleep right then and there. The next day was a Saturday, anyway, so he could afford to ruin his sleep schedule for a bit, right?

With that decided, he yawned and stretched (which stung) before shutting his eyes, hair tucked back behind his ear as he fell into a light and fitful but much-needed sleep.

+

He awoke to something light but undeniably solid landing on his stomach, and he flailed, eyes opening as he sat up- and immediately groaned, wrapping an arm over his mid-section.

“Hey. I brought chocolate,” a voice to his left said, and Prompto turned to see who it was.

He stared.

“How did you get in my house!?” he sputtered.

Noctis rained an unimpressed eyebrow, arms crossing as he replied, “You told me you keep the spare key under the flower pot, remember?”

Realizing that he had done exactly that, he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “… Oh, yeah.”

Prompto took that moment to glance down at the item in his lap, the thing that had landed on his stomach, and it was undeniably a bar of chocolate.

“Anyway, I brought that, and...”

Prompto looked up at that pause, and Noctis sighed as he finished with, “They taught me how to do a Cure spell last week. Want me to use it on you?” 

Normally, Prompto would have raved that this new feat of Noctis’ was _so cool_ or made fun of him or something, but his ribs were _killing him_ and he would quickly reply with a surprisingly polite and undoubtedly earnest and relieved, “Yes, please.”

It was only when Prompto shifted around to make room for Noctis to sit on the bed with him that he became aware Noctis was really _seeing him_ for the first time: no binder to mask his (admittedly small, but still noticeable) chest, clad in nothing but boxers and a sweater. He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable at this realization, but Noctis didn’t seem to notice or care as he reached over with a glowing hand and quickly cast the spell.

Prompto’s embarrassment at his current circumstances vanished with his pain, and he looked to Noctis with wide eyes.

“Well? Did it help?”

He was quick to reassure his friend, replying with an ecstatic, “Yeah! I don’t feel anything now. Thanks, Noct!” 

Noctis’ smile was small, but he looked a little relieved. “No problem.” Then, he bonked Prompto on the head, the blond squawking in response and going to cover the now-tender spot with his hands.

“What was that for!?”

“You not taking care of yourself.” 

He said it lightly and yet his words were anything but, and Prompto would slowly lower his hands, glancing down. How could he explain to Noctis that he didn’t mean to hurt himself, but that it just sort of happened? How could he explain feeling wrong in his skin, his only comfort a stretch of fabric that hid him away? How could he-

Noctis interrupted his thoughts with a snort. “Stop thinking so hard,” he admonished him.

Prompto pouted a little, the dark clouds that had begun to settle over his head fading until he could only see wisps of them. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Brooding Prince.”

“You did not just call me that,” Noctis flatly stated.

“Too bad I did.”

Thoroughly distracted, Prompto’s spirits lifted as he and Noctis snarked at one another, his discomfort settling at the back of his mind; it was still there, but manageable. Having a friend and no longer being in pain was certainly no cure for dysphoria and insecurity, but it helped. A _lot_. 

It was times like this that Prompto was grateful for Luna, grateful for his courage to actually take steps to be who he wanted to be, and especially grateful that he’d actually befriended Noctis. His life had changed for the better because of it – and, with wry amusement, Prompto realized it had all happened because of photographs and happy accidents.

Life was kind of funny like that.

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to everyone on twitter who encouraged me!! you know who you are! <3 
> 
> okay, this is probably horribly OOC since i've only watched brotherhood and read a bunch of fic but haven't actually played the game yet (i won't be able to until april; boooo). this is pretty much just my take on prompto's childhood/teenhood if he were trans.
> 
> also, if there are any typos, feel free to point them out! i'd really appreciate it.
> 
> anyway, thanks for giving this fic a chance and reading! <3
> 
> (title is from 'Please Just Take These Photos From My Hands' by Snow Patrol)
> 
> [tumblr](http://mxearthling.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/mxearthling)


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